Spiralling
by Nevertheend127
Summary: Mabel is intimately aquainted with heartbreak. Recent encounters with it had resulted in shattered vases, hurling expensive jewelry across the room, two screaming matches, and additional violent cursing of the Gilligham family name.


Mabel surveys the Abbey with her usual distaste, a small flicker of admiration thrown in with the spite. It really is a beautiful castle (manor? mansion?) and she's not going to bother denying that.

The people living it are silly and spoiled, although kind. Wasted intelligence, her mother would have said.

Reguardless, they've invited her and Tony over for the next couple of days before they move back to London.

Some people would believe it must be difficult for Mabel to stay under the same roof as Mary, after what Tony refers to as 'the incident.'

But it isn't really. Mabel thinks it's important to remind her future husband what is his, and what is not. And Mary Crawley- gorgeous, frivolous, shockingly intelligent Mary Crawley- falls heavily into the latter category.

The way Mabel sees it, Mary has always had a surplus of love, just as she's had a surplus of diamonds. More than she knew what to do with, more than she deserved.

"I expect you'll be staying in the north wing, then?" Mary asks primly as Mabel's suitcase is handed off to the steely-eyed butler.

Mabel takes her hands off her hips long enough to acknowledge Mary, then lets Tony answer.

"Yes, the accomidations are flattering, but uneccessary." Tony gushes.

"Oh, I don't know about that." Mabel drawls, gaze still locked on the pointed steeples. "I feel like some flattery was in order."

Mary's smile freezes behind wine-red lips. "Well, I hope you'll be comfortable, at any rate." She supplies.

Mabel scoffs, then returns the sunny smile as if she didn't know the only reason Mary's here to greet them at all is because her Mama is making her.

"I'm sure we will be." Mabel replies. "Tony, darling. Could you get my coat?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Mabel recognizes a broken heart when she sees one, enough to recognize that Mary Crawley is spiralling out of control.

Mathew Crawly may have been the strapping young gentleman with the heart of gold, the way everyone else seems to portray him. Of course, there's no way of being sure of that, people are often romanticized after their deaths. But Mabel can't help being a bit frustrated with the man. Going off and dying, so inconveniently, leaving a young, wild beauty like Mary a widow.

With Mabel herself, the results of such a heartbreak had included shattered vases, violent cursing of the Gilligham family name, and expensive jewelry being hurled across the room.

With Mary Crawley, it apparently involves boyish haircuts, ignoring her child, and stealing other women's fiances.

Mabel is kind enough to forgive her for that last transgression- or at least would be willing to, if Mary were not still flirting with Tony.

Back straight, shoulders back, smile like it's your wedding day already, Mabel reminds herself.

Mary laughs and pets the silk of Tony's jacket. "This is lovely. Is it new?"

An innocent enough gesture, but Tony's eyes go soft like a puppy's and he croons his response like a lovestruck schoolboy.

Mabel silently reminds herself that she's younger, and she'll be beautiful longer than Mary, if nothing else. But even that's luck of the draw.

"Tony, dear." Mabel says, voice thick with honey and sickening affection. She earns herself an approving smile from Lady Grantham and returns it with fervour.

Tony breaks Mary's teasing gaze and dips his head to hear her propperly.

"I was just going to ask if you wanted to have a look around the gardens tomorrow? The landscape really is exquisite." Once the pleasant buzz of chatter has resumed, Mabel adds to Tony in a lower tone, "If you keep making eyes at Lady Mary, I will castrate you with your steak knife."

Tony blushes a deeper shade of red than she's ever seen. "Yes darling." He rasps.

"Good." Mabel goes back to the babble of senseless nonsense the Granthams reguard as dinner conversation. Smiles all around, and not a one of them real. Mabel ponders the irony.

But even as Tony feeds her a spoonful of sorbert and cream off of his spoon, even as he sneaks her a drag off his cigar and feathers kisses against her hair while no one is looking-

Mabel knows he won't stop looking at Mary Crawley, not really, not permenantly.

No one can seem to keep their eyes off of Mary for too long.


End file.
